


Iron

by And_all_the_other_buns



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern Era, Sickfic, This only exists for angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25175467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/And_all_the_other_buns/pseuds/And_all_the_other_buns
Summary: An iron blade, a rare weapon, leaves Armand wounded.An absolutely shameless ass pull to have h/c because if you want these fuckers to physically suffer you have to get creative
Relationships: Armand/Marius de Romanus
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	Iron

Armand was too overcome with vertigo to even hold himself upright by the time Lestat and Daniel had him home, and he held on to his fledgling heavily for support. Blood still dripped slowly down his arm, the gash from that blade taking entirely too long to heal. It burned, like sunlight burned, and Armand could feel his heart pounding against the rising pain.

"Come on, inside," Lestat urged, and Daniel all but drug Armand inside, easing him down onto a couch in the nearest sitting room. Immediately Lestat was crying out, his voice reaching every corner of the Paris house, for Marius, for Louis, for Gregory or anyone around to hear. Gritting his teeth against the agony and the dizziness, Armand heard footsteps rushing to the parlor, and knew Master's voice from the first breath.

"Armand!"

"Master?" He called back, peering through blood tears as Marius knelt before him. His usually calm and reserved face was deeply lined with worry, quickly finding the tear in Armand's sleeve and the wound beneath it. Wordless he began to pull at Armand's sweater, Daniel helping to ease it over his head, his dress shirt next, leaving him bare. Sweat shone red across his skin, and behind him, Lestat took his intact arm, guiding him down to lie back on the couch.

"What the hell happened?" Demanded Marius as he took his fledglings arm in his broad hands.

Daniel and Lestat looked to each other, trying to find the words and trying to piece together the flurry that had come to pass. Out of towners, new blood, no one who had any right hunting in their territory. Armand took the pair on himself, territorial little shit as he was, and laughed spitefully at the little penknife of a dagger one pulled out.

"But as soon as it cut his skin he started screaming like a damn banshee?" Lestat nearly shrieked, pacing erratically. He had his sunglasses pressed up into his hair, curls falling wildly along his face.

Marius shushed both Lestat's voice and Armands grit-teeth whimpers as he examined the deep cut. It should be healed by now, and there were flecks of some sort of grime stuck in the thick blood-

"Damnit. Iron," he snarled, noting the swollen edges of the cut. "Small knife you said? Palm sized at best?"

"Yeah, I guess," Daniel shrugged as he hovered awkwardly at his patriarch's shoulder. 

Marius sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"It's an iron blade,", he said with frustration. "A rare trinket of a weapon, truly, cooled with a corpses blood, and supposedly wiped down with newly dead vampire ashes."

"I've never heard of such a thing!" Lestat said immediately, throwing his arms up. "This sounds like vampire hunter nonsense, like crosses or garlic!"

"You are not yet 250 years old Lestat there is much you have not come across," Marius replied with as much calm as he had to spare. "But I assure you it's a true weapon. Blessedly rare, but very real. They're difficult to make, and it seems to be a coin flip whether it will actually have any effect on its target. The trick has only been known around 2500 years, and it hasn't been found yet exactly what makes it work. Might be the origin of the metal, or the age of the blood drinker-"

"Will it fucking kill me or not Marius?!" Armands voice was a roar despite his ashen skin and frightened eyes, and Marius smoothed a hand down his hair.

"No, child. I've only ever seen a newborn fledgling die of such a thing...but it takes a while for it to leave the blood, the taint of the iron and death."

"Give me a damn straight answer then-ah!" Armand had tried to press himself upwards to better shout in his maker's face, but his wounded arm wouldn't support his weight. 

Wordless, Marius lifted his own wrist to his mouth and bit, his own blood flowing quickly from the wound, and he held it over Armands to let the blood wash through the cut. It did not seal, and he knew it wouldn't, but he hoped it might flush some of the poison from it before it.

"You'll be fine, Amadeo," he whispered, already heartbroken at how his child had to grit his jaw against the pain. "It's just going to be a process."

)))(((

Armand shivered despite the layers of blankets, unable to feel warm after Master's appraisal of his fever. Someone coaxed him to lie still and open his mouth, placing something cold under his tongue. After a moment it made a little beeping noise, and was removed.

"104," came Louis gentle voice, afraid to raise it in a sick room. "Is that high?"

"For a human, yes. For our kind? Who knows. We're animated corpses more than anything else, meant to be rotting in a gave, we shouldn't be so warm even after we feed...if nothing else it doesn't seem comfortable at all, does it Armand?" Master's voice was calm, unhurried, and Armand took deep comfort in this. Despite the dreary ache to his muscles and the stabbing pain of the iron cut on his arm, he pushed himself over to see Master.

"Armand, you lie still and rest now," he whispered, stroking his hand down Armand's cheek. The boy groaned, pulling away from the cold touch of his skin; he already felt frozen, damn it.

"I know, my child," he continued. "I know, I've seen vampires sick with iron before my love. But you're strong, your body will fight it off, it's just a terrible ordeal for now. But you lie still, try to sleep, let your body heal."

Armand couldn't find words, and just nodded, closing his eyes against the spinning of the room around him. Though Master's touch chilled him, being near was a confort.

Master was still at his bedside when he woke next, telling him not even an hour had passed yet. That seemed impossible; he was sluggish and tired and surely half the night had gone by! Still he shivered, teeth chattering.

"It's his fever rising," he heard Daniel say somewhere in the room, near the door. "He'll be alright, Lestat, Marius knows what he's talking about."

Why was the brat prince even here? Armand tried to look for him, dragging himself up onto his elbows to sit up and squinting against the dim light of his bedroom, but immediately there were several pairs of hands on him, gently easing him back down with firm movements and scolding words.

"Stay the fuck down boss," his fledgling said, his voice quivering slightly, and he knew Marius' touch immediately as it smoothed over his face.

"Just lie back young one. The more you rest now the easier you'll get through this."

"Why's Lestat here?" He murmured, looking up at his Master and wondering why his face seemed so hard to focus. Over and over he blinked, trying to find the usual sharpness of those blue eyes and that narrow nose.

More gentle hands, too cold.

"He's worried about you, my love, he wanted to see you were alright."

"I'm cold," was his only response. Master made a small noise, aknowledging his words, and Armand felt him pull the covers up a little higher on his chest. Yes, that's what he wanted, and he whimpered quietly for another one, which was brought for him without hesitation. 

"I know you're cold, or that you feel it as such. It's your fever, child. Try to sleep through it," he advised, and Armand wondered if he was working a trick on him, because sleep seemed to come over him easily.

He woke once more before dawn, words floating around, a voice he barely knew, some human pet of Lestats, a snack and lover and errand runner in one, who seemed to be assigned his nurse for the day. Day? Oh, good, please, he longed for the death sleep.

Master's lips to his forehead, blessedly warm for once, like his hands. He had fed, and Armand whined for him to stay, his shivering body wanting the warmth, wanting Master close.

"It's almost dawn, we will be asleep soon," he told his fledgling, and Armand wanted badly to cry. He felt his face turned up, felt Marius seal their lips together softly, and groaned as the blood flowed into his mouth. Marius cradled his head as he drank, holding his shivering child close as he fed him his own blood and soothing him as they parted.

"Sleep, Amadeo, I'll be at your side soon.

And he was. Master woke well before Armand ever did, and his next conscious moment was Master and Daniel at his side. It was so difficult to see them, and he cried about how bright the room was.

"Turn off the other lamp, Daniel," Marius instructed the young one. "Amadeo, is it your head?"

"Hurts," Armand breathed, squeezing his eyes closed and reaching blindly beside him for Master's hand. Cool again, one gripping his own.

"I'm sure, my love, I'm sure. Here, open your mouth for me again-"

He only understood once he felt someone touch his lips, and knew they meant to take his temperature again. He opened, letting Marius slip the thermometer under his tongue, and accepted the kind words and soft touch to his cheek his actions earned him.

"105.4," he read with a sigh, pressing the back of his hand to Armand's brow as though he didn't believe it himself. "Second day is always harder than the first."

Armand nodded vaguely, not really following the conversation. His maker and fledgling spoke soft words around him, and he felt Daniel's smooth hand slip into his own and squeeze. He tried to squeeze back, but his hand shook, and he could hear Daniel sigh heavily.

"You're gonna be alright boss, k? You just gotta fight through it."

"Uh huh," Armand murmured, and groaned softly as he felt something cold and damp lay over his forehead. Fluttering his eyes open, he made out a fuzzy shape at the top of his vision and tried to reach for it. Master caught his hand with one of his own.

"Leave it, Amadeo," he said slow and firm. "It will help cool your fever."

"...I'm not cold now, Master," he said with confusion, squinting at Marius. Master only nodded, and leaned down to kiss his hair.

Armand slept fitfully, strange, too vivid dreams melting over to his waking hours, and once he woke up screaming, sitting bolt upright, because it was on fire, the walls, the curtains, all of it, and the boys -!

Master was at his side immediately, pressing him back down to the mattress by his arms, talking in soft, rapid Italian, that he was fine, he was safe, the boys were safe, you're fine, my child love, hush your fears-!

Darkness took him, fighting against the lamplight, against the throbbing pain of his arm and his head and his back. His stomach was sick, which so rarely happened. He tried to tell Marius he felt ill, but he made him to take blood anyway, and while the sweet, salty taste was pleasant, it took only moments before his exhausted, over heated body rejected it and he threw it back up. Bless Master and his reflexes, though, able to grab Armand and sit him up so the blood messed only the top blanket, quickly carried away.

"'m sorry, Armand whimpered, trying to wipe the red tears from his eyes. His stomach ache fueled this as well as his shame. "Just hurts."

Marius and Daniel both took Armand to their throat, encouraging him to drink again, but by midnight he found he couldn't do it, couldn't pierce the skin. He mouthed at Daniels neck, terribly upset and not understanding, till his fledgling made a cut for him. Even then he could manage only a few swallows before wanting to vomit.

"The fever," was all Marius said, weariness on his tongue. "The iron. Metal from that forge is a poison to us. If it doesn't kill immediately it makes us so ill until it can leave our system, and Armand got a high dose."

"But he'll be ok?" Asked Daniel for the twelth time, and Marius nodded, wincing at the heat from Armand's skin.

"He will be, with time."

)))(((

Armand was nearly out of his mind by the third night. He wouldn't let them take his temperature, he didn't understand what they were doing. Finally after a half hour of cajoling he wore himself out enough to comply, giving them a reading of 108.3. lethal for a human, not great for Armand either. It couldn't hurt him, not as an immortal, but he suffered from it, and it showed how far along into this hell he was. Louis could barely stand to touch him, and Lestat just hovered by the door picking at his nails. In bed, Armand tossed, fighting his covers, his nightgown, his caretakers and the demons of his fevers own making. Beautiful brown eyes turned glassy and far away, and most of the time he didn't seem to see anyone. He mumbled to the walls, he cried at nothing. Delirium had taken him.

Soon he lie still, too weak to move, his narrow chest rising quickly as he panted. Blood sweat had begun to bead across his face, and while this sent Daniel into a spiral of anxiety, it was a relief to Marius. It would level off now, his body was finally catching up.

1 am, he'd sent the rest of the room away to hunt, to rest , to get fresh air. He wanted a few hours with his child. Careful of his every pain, Marius wrapped him loose but thorough in one of the blankets from the bed, picking him up in a cradle and taking him to sit near the window. Armand whimpered at the movement, eyes unfocused and not understanding.

"Shh, hush, my Amadeo," he whispered in his fledgling's ear, lying his chin atop Armand's tangled hair. Through his own shirt he could feel the feverish heat of Armand's skin. "I've got you, little one, you're almost through this, so strong, my Amadeo."

Armand didn't reply. Marius knew he probably couldn't hear him, didn't see him. His only interaction with the world around him was to push pitifully against his cocoon, wanting released from it, wanting cooled down, but Marius held him tighter. It was his understanding that Amadeo needed to sweat out the end of his fever, stay as warm as his master could keep him. And by his eyes, it was working. Armand's hair was growing damp with sweat, his collar growing slowly red with it. Marius dabbed his face gently from time to time to absorb the blood, promising his child a long, warm bath once this was over.

Again, Amadeo said nothing, he only groaned at the unwanted touch.

Outside the window the city was alive despite the late hour, cars busy, clubs flashing neon, specs of people crowding around late night bars and restaurants. Marius watched the city, and he watched his child, fever bright eyes blinking heavily as he gazed towards the window.

"Can you see the lights, Amadeo?" He whispered, tucking a damp lock of hair away from his face. "so busy still, so bright. It reminds me of your Night Island."

Armand panted heavily through pale, parted lips. His heart aching, Marius leaned forward to lay kisses to Armand's temple, despite the frightening heat.

An hour passed here, Armand limp, dozing in and out of that twilight consciousness, and by the time the others began to return, his gown was nearly soaked through with blood.

"It's a good sign," he assured a fretful Louis as he knelt down to take Armand's limp hand. "He's finally sweating out the fever. It will be over soon."

Indeed, another half hour past and Armand started to make noise again, broken, heartwrenching little sobs, pained cries as he fought his blankets and his Master, but Marius encouraged each noise. He spoke his replies as though his Amadeo were actually speaking first. Blood sweat poured from the boys brow and neck, and though he could feel it soaking through the blanket between them, but it didn't matter.

By three thirty, Armand was nuzzleing against Marius, seeking comfort. Encouraged by this moment of lucidity, he bade Daniel to check his temperature and found it down below 104 again, finally. But it wasn't until Armand began to shiver that he finally felt true relief. The sweat soaking his clothes and blanket were causing a chill, and he turned pitifully towards Marius, a trembleing arm reaching up around his master's neck to draw them closer.

Marius nearly cried his relief when Armand let out a small whimper for blood, which was provided without pause, Marius cutting into his own wrist. Armand could barely hold on, could barely even swallow he was so weak, but the trickle that made it down his throat was something at least. Cradled in his lap, he so resembled the child rescued from the brothel, fed spoonfuls of soup and wine by his master's own hand.

"There's my sweet boy come back to me," Marius sighed, adjusting his hold on Armand to sit him up a little straighter. Armand's eyes, still fever bright, managed to find his own though

"...tired…"

He could have laughed outright , smoothing back his wet hair.

"I'm sure, my son, I'm sure."

They drew him a bath, the steam rising from the tub as Marius and Louis gently eased him from his ruined gown. Daniel stripped down to his boxers to hold him in the tub, letting his head lull back onto his shoulder as Marius gently bathed the blood from his skin. Even the brat prince himself was helping, kneeling by Marius to keep up a constant chatter to Armand, despite Louis teasing that he would only hurt his head.

Armand didn't seem to mind. By this point he seemed to at least recognise the people around him, and with a few repeats he could follow Marius' directions to lift his arms, close his eyes, my lovely boy, my good boy.

By the time he was dried and dressed in a clean shirt, he could answer simply yes or no questions. Yes, he knew his name, he knew Marius. Yes, cold, no, not hungry. He seemed absolutely blissed out when he was finally laid in a bed of clean sheets, fresh blankets tucked around him. A final check of his fever before dawn read at 100.8, and that out of a hot bath.

He woke late, hours after the death sleep wore off, but Marius was waiting by his side, stroking his gaunt cheek as he opened his eyes 

"Good evening, my Amadeo," he said in a gentle voice, and Armand scrubbed at his eyes, still tired 

"Master," he sighed, exhausted but with tenderness. "Master, my head hurts."

"I know, my love", he cooed, briefly checking his forehead with the back of his hand but finding it blessedly cool. "Another days rest and the last of the iron will leave you. Can you feed, child?"

Armand shook his head, burrowing further under the blankets, but Marius didn't much like that answer. He's had only a swallow or two of blood over the past three nights, and though Armand could usually go so long easily without blood, his body was absolutely strung out to it's limit. So Marius reached forward and gently tipped his fledglings face back towards him. A deep bite to his own tongue had the blood filling his mouth, pooling around his tongue. Gaunt and gray, Armand looked reluctant at first, whimpering that he didn't need it, but he didn't argue once their lips were sealed together and the gathered blood flooded into his own mouth.

They lay quietly this way for several long minutes, Marius reopening the wound as needed. It wasnt the most efficient way to nourish a blood drinker, but it enticed his Amadeo, and when they broke apart his face was pink, dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

"Sleep a while later, and know I'll be here when you wake, Armand, and know I'll wait for you. I'll always wait for you, my young love, my child love, my son."


End file.
